David Healey - Red Sniper

For the first time since the escape from the Gulag, Cole began to wonder just how the hell they were ever going to make it to Finland.

It wasn’t a good sign that Whitlock’s legs were mostly dragging now.

Vaccaro stumbled, almost dropping Whitlock. He must have been having the same thought about the mission, because he managed to pant, “Goddamn, Whitlock, you better not turn into a popsicle on us.”

“Faster,” Cole grunted.

They reached the forest and the trees closed in around them. Immediately, Cole felt safer here, more protected than they had been in the open. The thick evergreen boughs filtered out some of the snow, causing it to fall more slowly. Although it was dusk, the snow reflected what light remained.

They dumped Whitlock in a wet, shivering heap in the snow. The others gathered around.

“We need to build shelters,” Cole said. The time had come to give them all a crash course in building shelter. He nodded at a fallen log about three feet off the forest floor. “That deadfall there is a good start. For another shelter, we can set a pole in the fork of a tree. Then cut these here pine branches to make the roof. If you have time, cut a few boughs for the floor, to get yourself out of the snow and off the cold ground.”

Cole drew his big Bowie knife and began hacking at the evergreen boughs in the understory. The heavy, razor-sharp blade easily chopped through branches as big around as a broom handle. He began to pile them so that they slanted from the deadfall to the ground, creating a sloped roof. Despite the cover of the forest, snow began to pile up on the branches he cut.

The others set to work making two-man shelters. Honaker and Samson teamed up, first wedging a long branch into the fork of a tree so that it sloped down to the ground, then piling branches against it. Vaska had done this before and worked with efficient strokes of a hatchet to build an evergreen cave for himself and Buka. Cole and Vaccaro completed the shelter using the windfall in minutes.

Cole’s arms and chest had gotten wet trying to pull Whitlock out of the water. The activity of building the shelters had kept him warm at first, but now the cold setting in with nightfall was quickly sapping his body heat. He stripped off the wet shirt and thermal top and put on dry clothes, although he had to make do with putting his damp coat back on. He wished they could build a fire to dry out, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

As if reading his mind, Honaker said, “We ought to build a fire.”

“If we start a fire, them Russians will be on us fast as ants on sugar,” Cole said. He pronounced the word as far . “Do you reckon this is a good time to tangle with them?”

“If we don’t start a fire, Whitlock is gonna freeze to death,” Vaccaro said quietly. “Look at him.”

Hypothermia set in when a person’s body temperature fell by ten degrees. The plunge into the bog had easily done that to Whitlock’s core. He shook uncontrollably. When he tried to speak, the words emerged in a thickened stammer. His movements appeared sluggish.

“There is another way,” Cole said. “Body heat. Skin to skin, wrapped up in a blanket.”

“Don’t go looking at me to when you say that,” Vaccaro said. “What do I look like to you, some kind of Nancy boy?”

“It ain’t like that,” Cole snapped. “It’s about keeping Whitlock from freezing to death.”

Inna stepped forward. “I will do it.”

“All right. Let’s get his clothes off.”

Getting Whitlock out of his wet clothes wasn’t easy—the wet cloth stuck to his sluggish limbs, and it didn’t help that their own hands were freezing. Their numb fingers fumbled at the buttons. Finally, they were able to get him out of his wet clothes and wrap him in a blanket.

Inna was already stripping down. Cole held up a blanket to give her some privacy.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, draping the blanket around herself. Cole bundled up her clothes to keep them out of the snow, and handed them to Inna. He happened to notice the tiny pistol in her boot and pulled it out. The gun barely filled the palm of his hand.

“Why, Miss Inna, what’s this for?” he asked, amused. “You could maybe shoot a rat with this little thing.”

“What would you Americans say? It is insurance.”

Then she and Whitlock crawled into the deadfall shelter. “You need to get right against him and then wrap the blankets around yourselves.”

“I know,” she said, sounding slightly annoyed. “Hillbilly, do not forget that I am the one who worked in the infirmary.”

“Roger that.”

Although Ramsey had not gotten wet, he was also shivering—when he wasn’t wracked by bouts of coughing. “Too bad we don’t have an extra nurse to wrap herself around me,” he said with a smirk. “Some guys have all the luck.”

“Go on in there and huddle up against them as best you can,” Cole advised. “It’s the best we can do without a fire.”

Ramsey did just that, and Cole cut more boughs to close off the front face of the deadfall shelter. The falling snow would add another layer of insulation.

“Now what?” Vaccaro asked, tilting his head into the falling snow. In the growing darkness under the trees, Cole could barely see him.

“Smoke ’em if you got ’em,” Cole said. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere until daylight. The snow ought to cover our tracks soon enough, so I’m not worried about Barkov. Let’s get some sleep.”

“All right, but don’t go spooning up against me now,” Vaccaro said.

Cole cackled. “When it gets right cold in the middle of the night, City Boy, ain’t gonna be no strangers.”

Huddled inside the shelter, Inna felt like some forest creature. The rough-cut fir boughs smelled pleasant, and in the silence she could hear the soft patter of snow accumulating around them. It reminded her of how she had built forts out of blankets and chairs as a child. She had felt safe then. Cozy.

There was something reassuring, too, about sharing simple body heat with Harry. Although it was wrong, she had to admit that she had dreamed of such a moment, when she could be flesh on flesh, skin to skin, with this man. He still shivered, and she wrapped her legs and arms around him as if she could soak right into him, her belly pressed into his back.

“Inna, I—”

“Shhh,” she whispered. What was there to say? She was simply glad that he was alive.

A few spasms still worked their way through his body. Inna maneuvered so that she lay on top of him, like a blanket. She could feel every contour of his body, every rib and muscle. She could feel that he was a man, stirred by her warm body. She took his cold hands and guided them to the warmth between her thighs. He flinched. To his icy fingers, the heat felt like a furnace.

Their lips brushed, and then Harry was kissing her, deeply and longingly. His lips still trembled with the cold. It was a kiss that had been delayed for weeks and months by the ever-watchful eyes surrounding them in the Gulag. Indeed, it had proven easier to escape than to steal a few moments of such intimacy.

They held their breath, not wanting to be overheard. Ramsey lay nearby, wrapped in a blanket, already passed out from exhaustion, judging by his measured breathing. Perhaps he was just pretending, hoping to give them some measure of privacy.

She spread her legs and took him into her, which only seemed natural and beautiful. They lay that way for several minutes, simply coupled together, sharing warmth. She clenched him tight inside her. His hips shifted and lifted her, up, up, again and again, both of them moving together, struggling to be as quiet as possible. Inna smothered her cries in his shoulder. Finally, they both seemed to melt into the other. She lay there listening to his heart thudding in his chest, thinking that, just perhaps, it was not such a bad thing to be here in this snow-covered shelter forever.